The ivory mare was only able to give the winged stranger so much of her attention before the insufferable stallion spoke again. Pale eyes narrowed to slits as the tiger-striped stallion continued to prattle, his incestuous need to be at the center of her attention grating at her every nerve. Her mind's eye was slowly filling with images of him, bloodied and beaten at her hooves, apologies dying upon cracked lips whilst old pleas for mercy echoed through the forest. She glanced again up into the tree boughs, deciding that they were old enough by now to have seen it all; they would not be offended by a little murder here and there.

She licked her lips, wetting the scarlet stain and igniting the tang of iron upon her tongue. It was so sweet, the taste of someone's sin upon her lips, the taste of another's defeat. 

A step was taken toward the horned brute as he spoke, the syllables and inflections of his words a meaningless mumble. Eyes sparking with something that could be recognized as lust, Orithia grinned cruelly at the stallion, her mind finally focusing upon what idiocy his lips were spilling. An attractive arch to her neck, a coy batting of her lashes, a flick of the tail and a flirtatious pose later, she spoke; 

"Oh, Misael," she purred, honeyed words dripping poison to the earth, "I would take so much pleasure from entertaining you into a shallow grave."

He could keep his welcomes and keep his godforsaken herd, she didn't need them. As for answering his question, she simply ignored him and switched her course to the winged stranger. The tale end of the mare's dialogue was caught and Orithia's eyes slid to the gruesome scars that sliced at her skin. Jaw clenching, the ivory serpent's ears threatened to flatten against her skull as her rage ignited once more in the pit of her stomach. 

She was about to speak, about to ask who had so viciously treated the mare and where they could be found, but the nameless mare had begun to speak once more. A battlefield? Orithia's lips twitched; it would be a lie to say that she wasn't intrigued. Eyes slipping back toward the horned cretin, the coral stained shrew bared her teeth. If there were any more like him - and she knew there would be - a battlefield would offer much more to her than he ever could. 

What a wondrous, war soaked life she could lead. 

Returning her attention to the ebony spattered pegasus, Orithia offered a terse nod, "I accept your terms and your offer on the condition that you show me this battlefield upon my acceptance into this World's Edge." 

A joker's smile spread across her effeminate face as she drug her gaze across Misael, "I get the feeling I may have many differences to settle."

And with that, she shoved past the stallion, feathered wings brushing against his flank in a gentle promise; if he wanted to find her, she would welcome him with open lips ad sharpened teeth. 

For now though, the Edge was calling.